Chapter Five: The Forbidden Pull
The following days passed in a blur of rain and restless thoughts.
Elara told herself she could pretend—pretend she didn't know what Lucien was, pretend the house was simply old instead of haunted by secrets.
But every time she caught a glimpse of him across the hall or heard his voice in another room, the pretense dissolved.
A fragile truce
He avoided her at breakfast, at dinner, even in the garden.
Yet somehow, wherever she went, she felt him nearby—like a second heartbeat echoing behind her own.
One afternoon she found him in the library again, staring out at the storm.
She forced a light tone. "You're good at vanishing, you know that?"
He turned, the corner of his mouth lifting. "It's a survival skill."
"Then maybe I'm bad for your survival."
His gaze sharpened. "You don't understand how true that is."
The words hung between them, neither of them willing to break eye contact.
An unexpected danger
That night, Elara couldn't sleep. The storm had torn open part of the garden fence, and the servants whispered that something prowled the grounds.
Restless, she looked out her window—and froze.
A figure moved among the trees, pale and swift.
Before she could blink, it was gone.
She threw on her coat and hurried down the hall. At the main door she collided with Lucien. His hand closed around her wrist.
"Where are you going?"
"Someone's outside!"
"That's not someone." His voice was steel. "It's something that followed the scent of blood."
Lightning flared, and for an instant she saw the red glow in his eyes again—bright, defensive, not directed at her.
The encounter
He led her into the study and bolted the door. "Stay here."
"Lucien, wait—"
But he was gone, a blur through the window.
Minutes stretched into an hour before he returned, cloak torn, a faint line of blood at his temple.
"It's gone," he said quietly. "For now."
She touched his sleeve without thinking. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing."
Still, her fingers lingered, and he didn't pull away.
The storm outside softened to rain. In its rhythm, she could hear both their heartbeats—his slower, heavier, echoing hers.
"You risked yourself," she said.
"I always will," he answered simply.
The words struck deeper than she expected.
The pull
For a long moment neither moved. The fire in the hearth flickered, painting gold over his pale skin.
Lucien finally stepped back, eyes shadowed.
"Every time I'm near you, it gets harder to remember what I am," he murmured.
"And harder to let you go."
"Then don't," she whispered before she could stop herself.
He looked at her—truly looked—and then shook his head. "You don't know what you're asking."
He left her there, the scent of rain and smoke still clinging to the air.
Later
When Elara returned to her room, a single page lay on her desk, torn from an old book.
It read:
'Two hearts bound by forbidden blood will either break the curse… or awaken it`.
She traced the words with trembling fingers, realizing that the thing between them was no longer just attraction or curiosity.
It was destiny—dark, dangerous, and already in motion.